


The Ache

by Megalohdon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Sadstuck, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalohdon/pseuds/Megalohdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The downfall of the mage is graceful. A short breath drawn too soon, a hand clutched to your chest as you fight to keep your composure. You know there are tears of fire singeing your cheeks but you don’t care. You don’t care, you want it to be over with. Take the pain away and show you grace, someone take you far away from a world that thrives on suffering. Out of an existence where happiness is tainted and false. Nothing is real. You understand that now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ache

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this pic](http://bittesehr.tumblr.com/post/35683275665/anxiety-it-felt-like-there-were-bees-in-my) and was like wow, instant inspiration, so I wrote a little drabble sadstuck for it uvu Art belongs to Bitte of cource, and they are sourced! This isn’t really much of an anxiety thing? So much as I could personally relate this to Bipolar Disorder, and appropriately, was able to write something for Sollux. I apologize for typos/grammatical errors that may be present! Posted on my personal tumblr dhemon if you saw it there (:

It starts out as a soft thrumming. A gentle beating in your chest and you’re comfortable, at home. Because right now it doesn’t make sense. Right now it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t push you to your limits and you’re okay. It’s like there’s a hive of bees inside you and they just want out. They need to make honey to live, to reproduce. So you let them. You open yourself up to the world and let them free and for some reason you’re the only one who can’t see how weird this looks.

They’re giving you these odd glances. These people whom are your friends, the ones you’re so dependent upon for socialization and comfort. You’re letting it all out, in the open, and you want them to accept the bees in your chest. You want them to hold out their hands and allow your buzzing companions to snatch the pollen from their fingertips.

But they don’t. They draw back in on themselves and you’ve never felt more alone than you do right now.

A quick wave of panic and it’s over. The queen resides in your heart, soft fluttering reassuring you everything is alright. She always knows best. She wouldn’t let you hurt like you so desperately want to. You must be some sort of masochist, aching and crying out to be kicked to the dirt. And you don’t understand but that’s what you thrive on, these raw emotions that are too much for anyone else. These things you feel that could not possibly be real but they are.

Everything is.

It’s almost as if you’re hyper aware of all the things around you, each touch that grazes your flesh and sound that bombards your ears. The breaths you draw in catch in your throat and you’re so scared. You don’t understand why it’s so hard to breathe. Why everything is so hard. You feel like lead.

Sometimes you wait to be dropped in the water. You wonder if you’re like a brick and will sink, or if by some miracle you will float and save yourself from these feelings you can’t explain. You don’t know how to swim and you’re so frightened to take a dip. What will happen? Could you even handle it? Of course not, oh no. You’re so weak. A constant ache in your chest tells you that something’s wrong but you just.

Don’t.

Get it.

So instead of facing your fears you push them back, curl in on yourself and keep away from the rest of the world. They know too much as it is, they can’t see you breaking. They can’t see how desperately you want to give up and shatter. To them you’re so strong. This symbol of hope, a beacon of light in a dark tunnel. You are their savior but you don’t want to be. All you want is to go back to nothing and stay there. Go back to when you weren’t someone that mattered. Because being important hurts more than anything else ever has.

You’re not sure how to handle this. 

You think taking a swig or too of the drink of life will do the trick. Downing a couple shots of happy thoughts and numbness but it never does. There’s a sudden panic in your mind when you realize what you’ve become. A man with no more pride in himself than anyone else should have.

Sometimes the world is too much for you and you escape into a reality all for yourself. One where you’re alone, no pressures of looming eyes boring into the back of your head while you type away and try, just try to get by one more day. Everything hurts, and you don’t get what you did to deserve it. What could possibly want to make you hurt this badly.

More often than you’re willing to admit you let a finger graze your bare chest in the shape of a cross, your eyes slip shut as you tell yourself that someone has to hear you. Someone is going to take the pain and the hurt away. You’re going to be a hollow shell once more and that’s all you want. No more emotions, just numbness. Can you even revert back to the stage of your life when nothing mattered because there was nothing in you to care about?

Back when you were nothing more than a walking shell of someone who could have been great. 

Karkat tries to talk to you. And to be fair you try to talk back but he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand why your fingers curl in your too short hair and tug, why the tears in your eyes burn because you hate yourself so much. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to hear people who aren’t there. To know they’re going to die and you can’t help them. All you want is to save people, and the best you can do is pat them on the shoulder and tell them good job.

Everyone tries to understand, at some point. They sit and talk, they console. All they want is for you to smile but you’re so past that point. The bees in your chest hurt too much for you to want to talk. You want to build them a nice hive so they would leave you alone. Rip out each honeycomb they worked so hard on building so you can break down. You want to crumble to ashes but you can’t. You’re supposed to be stronger than that. 

Aradia says it’s anxiety. You tell her it’s not. With an all too forced smile curling your lips up you try to explain to her it’s more than that. It’s waking up each morning hating yourself because you couldn’t have kept sleeping. It’s looking in the mirror and weeping because you don’t know who you’re looking at. They aren’t the person people used to be proud of. Should be proud of. Would be proud of.

You’ve been found in a cowering, shuddering sobbing mess in the floor, amidst clothes too dirty to touch and plates with food on it you couldn’t bother to finish. If anything, rotting from the inside out seems like the way to go. All you want is to stop hurting, and your only idea, the only way out is to give up.

And you have.

There’s a white flag flying above your head, chin tucked in surrender as you tell the world you’ve given up the fight. You don’t have it in you anymore to keep going. You’ve been so strong for so long, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending that each hushed conversation in your head isn’t more normal than any you could ever bother having.

Honestly, you’d like to think that’s the hardest part.

Knowing what’s not there is still better than you in something. That these people who are going to die are living their life and you just want yours to end. Which is the cruel irony of your situation. You can’t end it; you can’t give up and go away, because for some reason unbeknownst to you, it’s important that you stay.

Someone has to hurt for the rest of them. As much as it pains you to admit, you’d much rather hold that role than anyone else.

For them you have to be strong. For them you keep your chin up and pretend it doesn’t hurt when your heart beats. Pretend that breathing isn’t the hardest thing you’ve ever had to force yourself to do. They need you around to give them a reason to keep going.

You’re so strong and you don’t see it.

You’re so much more than this disease that’s rotting your brain and you can’t understand because you don’t want to. It can’t possibly true. It’s not.

If anything, you’re a coward.

The downfall of the mage is graceful. A short breath drawn too soon, a hand clutched to your chest as you fight to keep your composure. You know there are tears of fire singeing your cheeks but you don’t care. You don’t care, you want it to be over with. Take the pain away and show you grace, someone take you far away from a world that thrives on suffering. Out of an existence where happiness is tainted and false. Nothing is real. You understand that now.

A short gasp and it’s over.

You claw at your chest, mouth open in a dry scream as you do your best to stop the ache. Do your best to keep the buzzing from continuing. Too thin grey digits dig into flesh and tug, opening yourself back up to the world and freeing you from your prison. The bees fly and flutter, happy buzzing caressing your eardrums as you stay strong. You’ll let your friends go for now. Maybe they will be back, to make a home inside your chest once again. And you know it will hurt just as bad as it did the last time but you can’t be bothered to care.

For now you are free. And if it’s any consolation to yourself, you think that’s a lot better than any hell you have been living in for some time now.

All you need is to learn how to live again.


End file.
